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437

Mr. Munn shifted himself, and looked up at her. " You?"
he asked.

" All the time he was coming out to see papa. Before the
bust-up. He was after me. He'd put his hands on me every

chance he got. He'd say, " My dear girl, my dear Lucille-----JJ

She spoke mincingly, twisting her mouth in mimicry. " That's
what he'd say, * My dear girl, my dear girl-----'"

"I hadn't thought of him in a long time," Mr. Munn
remarked, almost reflectively, "not really." Then he exclaimed
suddenly, with cold ferocity. "The bastard!"

"No," she said, "no, I feel sorry for him. I did even then,
when he was after me, and I was sick at my stomach."

"' My dear girl, my dear girl-----'" he repeated mincingly.

He got to his feet, and thrust his head out toward her, and
glared at her as though in hatred. " I'd like to cut his God-
damned heart out," he cried.

" He's nothing/' she said, and repeated the words, shaking
her head, slowly, from side to side, and moving her hands
in a slight gesture of dismissal, like a sick person whose
strength is failing.

" I could/' he insisted.

"He's nothing," she repeated, and she shook her head,
slowly, rebukingly. "Even Chivers," she added; "he was
something."

He let himself sink again to the edge of the bed, and sat
there, looking at her.

"It's late," she said at last.

"Yes," he agreed.

" Maybe I oughtn't to have come," she suggested expression-
lessly.

" Maybe," he answered.

" I thought 1 had to," she said.

At the door, pausing with her hand on the wooden latch,
she turned to look again at him, as though about to speak.
He was sitting, as before, with his elbows propped on Ms
parted knees, his forearms hanging loosely between them, aad
his eyes were fixed on the chair, across the room, where sfee